The Soulless (Heir #2.5) 4

Chapter 1

Chapter one

The firelight danced, casting both shadows and reflections off the wet and jagged walls within the twisted cavern. I listened to the distinctive echoes from my footfalls and counted each step as I walked.

Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three–

Occasionally, sharp rocks jutted from the sides of the narrow path, making it impossible to pass without either crawling under them or turning to the side.

The caves had been hidden for decades from the general population of that realm called Earth.

It was sad, really, how little knowledge most of the people there had about their own world, not to mention their understanding of the magical beings who had taken refuge there.

They only believed in things they could plainly see and explain, and as a result, all of their science was lacking in one aspect: there was a world, a world unseen by them—pulsating through them all.

It was the magic of life, of souls, of spirits, and of mysterious beings.

In existence, there are worlds and realms without end. The Creator has no limits.

The flame, emanating from the crude, wooden torch I held, only illuminated a few feet in front of me, so I walked slowly, hoping to avoid injury.

A slight shiver wrapped around me as I traveled deeper and deeper into the darkness.

I didn't like those dark, confined caves, and if I could have chosen any other location, I would have, but I needed a cave to work out my plans.

I hated the sulfuric smell and the dampness that permeated everything in there, especially the air.

Memories of my life back in Terra, my own realm, flashed before me as I walked forward and continued to count the steady rhythm of my steps: Two hundred and six, two hundred and seven, two hundred and eight.

I liked rhythm and the consistent patterns of things around me.

I had tracked the passage of time—its density and its values of the past and present—throughout my life.

When imprisoned, I had counted the number of times water dripped down from the small crack in the ceiling of my confining cell.

Those drips allowed me to collect water into a bowl, which I had placed precisely in order to secure a limited water supply.

I’d counted the number of times my prison guard had left his post throughout the day: three; the number of times that small rodent in my cell had searched for food before it realized that I had had no food for an entire week, and I never saw it again: one hundred and twelve—persistent little thing; and the number of times Tarick had tested his leather strap, just before bestowing another blow upon my flesh: three times—with a twenty-second pause between each strike.

It was always three, always twenty seconds.

The number of strokes upon my actual flesh always depended upon his mood; it had ranged from thirty to fifty, and then there was that one time when I passed out and stopped counting altogether—I regretted that.

I wanted to add that sum to my ongoing mental accounting.

I was at twenty thousand four hundred and two.

I shook my head. I wanted to forget the sound of his voice.

I wanted to forget the look in his eyes.

I could not, however. Just as I couldn't forget the other man who had stood beside him.

Although not always there, that fact did not make it any more bearable—not when he had never even tried to stop any of those beatings.

It had always been difficult to forget the man beside Tarick, because, regretfully, he was my own father.

I stopped in the tunnel for a moment, clutching the small dagger—the corruptor's blade–with my other hand at my waist. I still had it—good.

It was a security precaution for me. I dropped my hand and watched the flame of the torch I held flicker before me while I breathed heavily; I counted my breaths, the ones I took in and the ones I let out.

I did not realize how hard I had been breathing.

I tried to slow the anger—the racing of my heart.

I had never needed to calm myself down like that before.

Usually, if I wanted to feel a particular emotion, I just felt it.

If I wanted to move on from a moment or from a memory, I did.

I moved the midnight crystal from my pocket, feeling the heat and pulsations emanating from it; there was a living organism trapped inside that gem–my melody, my soul.

I smiled at that realization, the knowledge that I had finally discovered my soul, and, in that moment, my carefully counted out, yet unbeloved, childhood vanished before me.

I can change my future, despite my past, I thought.

My past could strengthen me—make me capable of handling more difficulties in life with more finesse.

I started walking again. Movement seemed to help keep the chill from seeping into the depths of my bones, which cold matched the darkness of the caverns.

If I remained inside of those caves for too long, I knew that I would need extra layers of clothing.

It was a good thing that I was only there to collect just a few items, and, hopefully, I would never have to return to those wretched caves ever again.

I pulled a curtain back, revealing a sad excuse of a room and sat down upon a small pile of discarded, soulless clothing, harvested from the ones lost. I sat, hands on my brow, as I thought and then rethought, over and over again, about what I had just done.

Feelings and emotions were swirling around me and left me rather breathless.

I didn't know how long I'd been there, slumped over, before one of the living soulless approached me.

“Sire, all is prepared,” the low voice resonated.

I looked up and nodded to the soulless boy. “What about the room where they were kept?”

“That table and all the equipment is still there as requested.”

When I had stumbled upon that cave long ago, it was because of a group of ‘believers,’ as they called themselves, some fanatic group I’d later learned.

This group of people who lived in a nearby secluded area often used the cave system.

I didn't understand what they used the caves for until I walked in on their leader one evening.

He explained to me that during each full moon, they offered a human sacrifice to their god for prosperity.

It wasn't the Ancients, nor was it the Creator, they offered up souls to; they were followers of the corruptor. They needed to be destroyed.

I flinched thinking back on what I’d seen that day.

I was certain that even a magicless being could have sensed the darkness inside of that man.

I, myself, had been sacrificed often enough throughout my life to have become unable to let their evil acts go unpunished.

Needless to say, the cult disbanded because their leader suddenly abandoned them, and no more people were sacrificed to their ‘god.’ They appeared to have used the largest of the caverns frequently, I could see why.

Not only was it a large space, but located down a very easily accessible tunnel.

After I had ridded the place of corruption, I realized that the spacious cavern would be perfect for my confrontation with the knight, my brother, and the lovely Emma, too.

Finding a plentiful supply of midnight crystals made the cave an even more obvious choice.

Focusing my thoughts, I looked at the soulless man in front of me.

He was wearing one of the uniforms I’d collected from some Terrans I had stumbled upon.

Why those Terrans had left Terra with a sack full of soldier uniforms, I’d never understand.

It had been a pain getting those. Whenever I played a part, I made sure I played the part well.

Realizing that the soulless wouldn’t leave until I said he could, I cleared my throat.

“Good,” I stood up, still clasping my brother's—no my—soul’s melody in my hand. I walked over to a small rustic table, which I sometimes used as a desk, and set it down on top. I needed some distance from all of the uncomfortable emotions, which attacked me.

Why am I feeling anything like this strange remorse in the first place?

I wondered. The melody, again, called to me, and with that call—there also came an answer.

That answer was the reason that my soul was causing me to see things differently.

I no longer could remain calm and collected.

I could no longer easily disengage myself.

I would have to work hard to figure out how to function while having a soul, on having all sorts of new emotions and feelings.

I rolled my eyes, running my hands through my hair with a sigh.

It was not at all what I had expected. I should have calculated as much, of course, which made me mad in an entirely different way; I was being incompetent.

In all of my planning, I had not realized what exactly it would be like to have a soul.

I had not prepared for that at all—for the differences in myself and how my soul would change me.

I had only considered how it could strengthen me, not how it would make me weak, filling me with incredibly strong emotions.

“Be sure that the dead are buried before we leave. And have someone also check in on the second facility. Most of those soulless, there, should be young enough to report back to us about what is going on there. I don't know when I'll be able to go there in person,” I ordered.

“I will, sire.”

“We need to cover our tracks here fully. Also, when we get back, I need to speak to that one soulless, who I’d sent to the school.”

“Yes,” he bowed. He was an obedient, little soulless.